


The Pride Of Man

by THA_THUMPP



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: 9-Year-Old Psycho Mantis, Bottom!Big Boss, Canon Divergence AU, M/M, Mpreg, Ocelot/Miller Rivals In Love, Revenge, The Floating Girl!Psycho Mantis, Top!Kaz, Top!Ocelot, cloning, fem!Psycho Mantis, feral child!Quiet, gene therapy, mpreg!Big Boss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 04:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5077798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/THA_THUMPP/pseuds/THA_THUMPP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>The same year Big Boss joined the Patriots, Zero proposed the idea of trying to cure the infertility begotten to him by the hydrogen bomb during the incident on the Bikini Atoll, March 1, 1954. Beguiled by the belief that he and Zero had a similar envisionment of The Boss’ Will, as well as outlooks concerning the future of the world, Big Boss agreed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Try what you want,” he said. “No test around can do to me what radiation hasn’t already done.” And so began two years of experimentation.</em>
</p><p>Though Big Boss wouldn’t really see the results until 1974, a few weeks after his hot night of sex with certain wildcat...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Then

**Author's Note:**

> Our second fic in the fandom! Yay!
> 
> Please Note: This story will take place during some of the GZ timeline and then link up with TPP (we'll let you know when we're entering 1984 territory). Also, this will be about BB, not V. There can only be one.
> 
> Warning: if mpreg isn't your cuppa, please-please- _please_ don't ~~drink~~ read. If it is, however, we hope you rike it. Enjoy!

The same year Big Boss joined the Patriots, Zero proposed the idea of trying to cure the infertility begotten to him by the hydrogen bomb during the incident on the Bikini Atoll, March 1, 1954. Beguiled by the belief that he and Zero had a similar envisionment of The Boss’ Will, as well as outlooks concerning the future of the world, Big Boss agreed.

“Try what you want,” he said. “No test around can do to me what radiation hasn’t already done.” And so began two years of experimentation.

Except Big Boss was wrong.

Zero’s tests _did_ do something to him. Though the consequences were unclear to all who took part, the tests were curative, just not in the way proposed, expected, or discussed. Even Zero’s scientists didn’t know what they had really done and never would know for when Big Boss found out that his two years of gene therapy had ultimately turned like his trust in Zero and into a guise—a red herring implemented behind the scenes in order to keep him close and farm his DNA for cloning; Zero’s secret project, _Les Enfants Terribles_ —Big Boss was furious. And once word of the ‘Twin Snakes’ birth’ reached his ears in 1972, relations fell like empires.

Disgusted with betrayal and the impression that his time spent undergoing tests had been a complete waste of resources, Big Boss left the Patriots feeling like a puppet that had danced on strings. He didn’t look back, only struck out by paving his own path; his own version of the Boss’ Will. And whilst Ocelot stayed behind to spy on their former compadre, Big Boss formed his own private military, which eventually led to his meet with ‘him.’

Kazuhira ‘Kaz’ Miller. There was quite the personality behind the name, Big Boss had mused, and though at first on opposing sides, they eventually convinced the other of their own worth and found a common ground. Miller would fight alongside him, it was agreed, even if it was by means of a surrogate dream. And for a time it was simple, just the two of them, learning from one another, growing ever closer.

But then Big Boss was reunited with Ocelot in La Habana Vieja, Cuba two years later, the end of 1974.

It was by chance they met, each drawn to Cuba for a different reason or mission, but their friendship for one another knew no boundaries; had no bitterness fostered in the name of absence. Their affiliation was the kind that ran deep like blood. It wasn’t anything transient like philanthropy or honesty. Even when driven by duties elsewhere they knew exactly how to feel about each other, and that was what made their relationship so easy and what compelled them to share a moment of drinks together.

The name of the bar in which they drank was irrelevant, but by design it was a quaint, old thing. The interior looked like it had been pulled straight out of a Spaghetti Western film, smelling like a hard day’s work and dry wood. The lights were dimmed orange and to mood, the chatter all in Spanish, in murmurs and laughs louder than their own voices; which were trained to be low.

“You look good, John.”

“Likewise.”

At heart, it was a perfect reunion; the beer cool; the nighttime warm; the moment Ocelot leaned in and over the table to light their cigar tips together memorable, looking more like a motioned kiss than a courtesy. It wasn’t long before silence became their preferred conversation, and within it whatever deep, sensual feelings they had stifled for one another over the years flourished and bore fruit.

Though this wasn’t ever disclosed through words.

Between the two of them actions were enough. Nods and touches, they were what spoke louder than the mouth, and after they showed themselves from the bar and into a Spanish hotel room for the night, the single bed there became their Eden; their comfort and their sin. It was all hands, pants that hinted the aftertaste of beer, a drunken smile there. To anyone else who saw such a smile possess Ocelot would think him as just that, but Big Boss knew Ocelot to be acting. Never before did he know the man to be a victim of his own intoxication.

They both took pride in control, this was fact. Though just for tonight, Big Boss turned a blind eye to this; forgot about it just as easily as he had forgotten about Zero’s tests, and with them a thing of the past, he didn’t think to feel any different.

In his mind he wasn’t. So he let himself be handled, let Ocelot have at him, quench that thirst and those sadistic kinks seen on enemies then desired on himself, and when the rising and falling of their naked bodies started everything was sticky and filled with the hunger of two touch-starved men.

The night itself was one too hot for sheets, even for Spanish silk. So they went without. They rolled above them, entangled their bodies with air and each other, and the uncovered touches of flesh against flesh was satisfyingly toe-curling; the heat that radiated from Ocelot’s bare hands as they clawed their way up Big Boss’ legs, all the way to his inner thighs where they spread him further for deeper thrusts in a gentleness not thought possible by either like pleasant sun-baked coals on every pore passed.

Even Ocelot’s kisses, when they started on whatever patch of skin; lips; shoulders; chest; whichever way turned, seared with pleasant obsession and Big Boss relished in each sensation with grunts and an arched back without fear of burning like Icarus when flying too close to the sun.

If only for a night he would let Ocelot be his wings, his reason to forget the world, even though he knew that come morning the top of the sheets would be cold and Ocelot would be gone to the wind once more.

 _‘Until we meet again,’_ their last words known but unspoken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the overture is a bit short. Originally, we had thirteen pages made up of seven excerpts in one document for the first chapter and were like, "no, this won't do - it's too long, at this rate we'll never submit the story," so we chose to split them up into shorter, individual chapters. The next one should be posted sometime this week...


	2. December, 1974

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here's the next chapter. Please enjoy!

When the dizziness started for Big Boss, Miller thought for sure that it was a sign of Hypoglycemia. It was a popular condition of the time, a term that had commonly become a layman’s means of expression for a multiplicity of symptoms, so it wasn’t an aberrant consideration. The indications were all-inclusive; the great amount of physical stress the boss had undertaken ever since returning from Cuba three weeks ago just one factor that could influence a case of low blood glucose. Recent surveys had recognized this to be true, and this Miller relayed to Big Boss at once.

“You know… According to the most recent census data our Intel Team has gathered, it’s been accepted that any sort of mental and physical activities that are strenuous on the body can influence cellular sensitivity, which in turn can result in glucose intolerance – even in those previously asymptomatic.”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, it can. And I don’t know about you, but I’d say these missions you’ve been carrying out lately have been pretty stressful. Just last week it was that solo infiltration, the week before that the meet with that client, who was an arms dealer. You’ve endured a lot—”

“No more than usual.”

“I understand that, but Boss. How ‘bout it? Why not take a few days off? Eat, rest. I’m sure the men will understand, and besides you have me. I can…” Miller’s voice trailed as Big Boss placed a hand on his shoulder. It was a brief touch, the brevity of admiration there with it, and as the contact ended with a squeeze Miller found himself blushing. He had grown fond of Big Boss, and out of that devotion he decided to let his concern fall on deaf ears and stood idly by in the boss’ shadow as Big Boss got his own way.

Though this was only for a time.

It wasn’t until one overcast afternoon, the day count relevant to another three weeks later, that Miller finally decided to put his foot down and be brazen with Big Boss. Because by then it wasn’t just one factor anymore.

In its neglect, the dizziness had worsened like a virus over the passing weeks, giving way to the more serious symptoms of nausea and abdominal pain, and although hopping from the clamshell of Morpho’s Mil Mi-24 was something Big Boss had done a hundred times in the past—on this day he fell. He just toppled over, looking as though all the blood in his body had pooled to his feet the second they touched Militaires Sans Frontières’ base of operations, and Miller’s face was riddled with shock on the spot.

Never, during all their time together, had he seen the boss go down so easily.

“Snake!” Miller yelled. They had gotten familiar enough over the last two years to where he felt he could refer to Big Boss as that title on occasion. “You!” He beckoned for a medic who was on the platform to greet the boss’ return as well to follow after him. “Come with me!”

“I’m fine,” Big Boss grunted after collecting himself, which was rather quickly; like a pushup. He was already standing again by the time Miller and the medic made it to his side. “I just…” It had rained earlier, the sheen still brilliant on the bolster beneath his boots. “…slipped.” He added as Miller took his arm, reluctant to mention how his vision had been attacked by a wave of white as powerful as the foam of those that churned the sea around Mother Base.

Except Miller called bullshit immediately. He had his aviator sunglasses on, sure, their lenses dark. But he wasn’t blind. “You nearly fainted! You’re taking a blood test!” They would need one if they wanted to diagnose him properly.

“Kaz—”

There were no buts.

Miller was persistent, and with a bruised sigh, Big Boss surrendered. He let Miller lead him to the Sick Bay the very same day and arranged to have his blood taken. And two weeks later that was where he found himself again—in the Sick Bay, standing across from the same medic and Miller; the result of the test already shared in hand between them but not him. Although at this point Miller’s face had a different look to it than its previous eagerness. It was more serious. Grave, even. Yet Big Boss figured the expression as one of disappointment for being proven wrong. Miller always was too sensitive about that.

“Not what we thought, huh? Am I dying?” Big Boss joked. There was no regret if he was. He would just have to get his new world in order a little quicker.

“N-No,” Miller spoke up first. “It’s just…” He glanced to the medic, who appeared to be on the same page as him. “Go on,” Miller ushered, pushing the file a little more the medic’s way. “Tell him what you told me.”

“B-Boss!” The medic saluted awkwardly, then proceeded to read the result out loud.

Apparently, something other than low blood glucose had been found in his blood: a hormone called _human Chorionic Gonadotropin_ , or hCG. Big Boss had never heard of the term before and shrugged.

“I’m a soldier,” he said. Not a scientist. “Tell me again, in simpler terms.”

The medic nodded, but when he tried to rephrase what had been said his hands started to shake so violently that Miller ended up snatching the file with an impatient click of his tongue.

“Essentially, it says here that you’re…” Miller had started so strongly, but then just as easily trailed off.

Big Boss shifted his gaze between both men across from him. The discomfort of the medic he could understand. The man was standing in front of a legend, after all, a celebrity shaped by Zero. But Miller? The only excuse Big Boss could find was that the lenses of Miller’s sunglasses were too dark, inhibiting his ability to read the words of the report adeptly under such dim interior lighting. But then Miller cleared his throat, and the hand Big Boss had in motion of taking the file for himself immediately froze as Miller returned into speech; words having the same effect as liquid nitrogen.

“You’re pregnant – eight-weeks,” Miller finished strictly on breath, and the room fell deadly still.

“I’m pregnant,” Big Boss deadpanned after a minute, only to feel tongue-tied thereafter.

For years he had been waiting to hear those words said to him—well, not _to him_ directly but to him as a father from a doctor, in a situation involving a man and a woman. But that was before the hydrogen bomb and its effects. After that incident and discovering that he had been rendered sterile, the waiting stopped; the hope with it. Except now there was this. This conception was certainly one way of redeeming that future stolen from him twenty years ago, poles apart from those clones of his created by Zero, but Big Boss didn’t know whether to take this finding as an accidental gift or a sick mistake, with acceptance or rejection.

The only thing Big Boss did know, however, was that Miller looked like he wanted answers, had questions. Though Big Boss didn’t think he was in the right mind to say anything. So he didn’t. He merely walked out of MSF’s Sick Bay without another word to anyone, the closing of its automatic doors the full stop, and for the entire day neither the medic nor Miller could pinpoint his location.

And from there it became like a chain reaction.

By evening over half of the staff members employed on MSF’s Mother Base were hunting for Big Boss high and low. Miller gave the order but was brief, only asking that the men report in if they spotted Big Boss; no more. It was a hasty move—Miller thought after. An overreaction. Especially since he already had an idea about all of Big Boss’ ‘favorite spots’ and preferred methods of ‘hiding in plain sight.’ And while many of the staff searched the farthest and most obscure corners of the base under orders, Miller took a calming breath and stuck with his gut.

And sure enough.

He found Big Boss sitting out in the open, on the Deck’s helipad with his feet dangling over the edge and his eyeline out across the horizon of the vast Caribbean Sea with a lit Cuban Cohiba perched between his lips.

The specific cigar brand was a rare find, a limited production, a premium. It wasn’t even on the market yet. The only reason Big Boss had a pack was because he had snatched it off some high-level official during his mission last Saturday, December 21st, when he was entrusted to infiltrate _Camp Omega_ , a U.S. Naval Prison Facility and black site, and retrieve a cassette tape with classified Intel for an unnamed client.

“Last one,” Big Boss scoffed through the filter of the cigar between his teeth before reluctantly tossing the rest of the pack into the ocean.

The pack was gone with one whisk from his wrist, freefalling for less than a second before being lost beneath the swelling waves below MSF’s Mother Base, depth as thick as tar. The whole time Big Boss watched it disappear from sight his expression was heavy, more so after he felt Miller’s eyes on his hand, which was shaking by the time it returned to his mouth to pull the cigar away from his lips and make it easier to let out a breath of smoke.

Was it shaking with excitement or fear, Miller was probably contemplating. If asked though, Big Boss would have assured he felt neither.

“What are you going to do?” Miller finally broached from where he stood. He had had some time to think things over, and while he didn’t know precisely how the boss’ ‘situation’ came to be, he did know that it took two to tango. That, and that a certain ‘someone’ was a very good dancer. “Are you planning on telling him? It is _his_ , right?”

 _Ocelot_. The jealousy in Miller had his tongue holding back the name. He had only met the man a few weeks back, had only heard stories before that, but the hatred was deep-seated and raging the moment the ocelot had casually visited Mother Base; stepped off an unmarked helicopter that seemingly came out of nowhere, hands up in humored surrender.

Miller could remember how Big Boss had pushed through the congregated crowd of militants, towards the frontline to find the source of his men being at arms, and the gentle look that overtook Big Boss the moment he saw this ‘Ocelot’ had said it all; as did the order for all guns to be lowered immediately. But even after seeing such regard on the boss’ face, also learning later that it was Big Boss himself who had sought the company of this man, Miller didn’t share the revere. He couldn’t trust Ocelot, no matter how much faith the boss seemed to put in him.

It was bad enough that Ocelot was asked to join their ranks afterwards, to become an official _Solider Without Borders_. Miller would be seeing him more of ‘him’ whether he wanted to or not.

“Boss—”

“No, I’m not,” Big Boss said before taking a final, long-lasting drag on his cigar and flicking the tobacco stick into the wind.

In the company of all the seagulls hovering around, it almost looked like one was going to catch the item like a fish with how it dipped in an updraft, but it missed its chance. The cigar fell like Big Boss’ eye, straight downward, as he got up. He didn’t look at Miller, even as he turned to face him.

“This isn’t his battle,” Big Boss added, like that was what his situation was—a battle.

A battle of what? Wills? Wits? Miller didn’t have a clue, but he wouldn’t pry. It wasn’t his place to do so, and he didn’t say another word as Big Boss left for the Living Quarters.

When the boss was ready, Miller figured the man would tell him himself.


	3. January, 1975 - Part 1

New Year’s Eve came and went like any other year, but no such talk of resolution was had during its passing. Big Boss was just as elusive about his pregnancy as he had been when it was first disclosed the week prior, and it was obvious that he hadn’t given his situation any more thought since then. He was all too comfortable with letting things play by ear, a trait of his inherited from his extensive time on the battlefield, and stubbornly went on as though nothing had changed.

He was still the boss and had a base filled with loyal personnel to run—was the reasoning behind his mindset when approached by Miller. And albeit it had started to sound more like an excuse in its reiteration into today, Miller couldn’t disagree with the sentiment. As hard as it was to accept, the logic was true. Miller had empathized with it completely and saw no other alternative than to continue his duties as he would under normal conditions.

Though if Big Boss thought that Miller would be ignorant to all circumstances like him, he was very mistaken.

Miller wasn’t the type to overlook things so easily, especially matters that had later effects. He knew better than to let whims run their course and clandestinely took the responsibility onto himself to make sure that every mission that landed his desk was one that the boss could handle with his hands tied behind his back. In other words, they needed to be easy, or at least straightforward, though there was never really security in written text. Anything could happen during a mission, the possibilities endless. All Miller could do was let the mission pass hands and hope that everything said or planned would go accordingly.

After all, Big Boss wasn’t just out there for himself. He was out there for two, and while Big Boss didn’t care to acknowledge that little factor while rampant on the front lines of war, Miller did and took multiple precautions into consideration when talking Big Boss through every trial and error, be it big or small, an infiltration or an extraction.

Mission complete; another success. Miller was keen on the days he could say this. It brought a smile to his face when he could relish in a little self-praise, knowing that once again he had succeeded in bringing Big Boss home unscathed.

The frowning only started when Miller came to realize later that week that he couldn’t get through to Big Boss on his own. Big Boss was too used to getting his way—with Miller, at least. And once all phrases of concern started to become like flurries, their utterance too brief and too gentle to make an impression on the boss’ decision to take things more seriously or slowly, Miller could think of no other way to execute a threat than to abuse the name of his enemy. And so, even against his own distaste of the thought, he took the initiative and asked that Big Boss reconsider telling Ocelot the news.

“It’s his right to know,” Miller said. Though he didn’t know why he found himself making excuses for a man who could hardly be considered a means of support.

The only thing Ocelot was good at, Miller had noticed since the man’s coming to Mother Base, was that he did justice in living up to the animalistic nature of his name. He was a wildcat, all right. Always sneaking around, gathering Intel about issues near and far. Between looking out for Big Boss and trying to keep tabs on a man of catty persona, Miller had his work cut out for him. And after Big Boss opposed the very idea of having Ocelot know, a flatly stated _‘no’_ his second answer to date, the stress only tallied higher. Miller actually started sighing more often, and by the end of the week his mood was noticeably offish and bitter to those who passed him by.

It was like trying to bring a horse to water, one that wouldn’t drink—in this case, listen to reason. Big Boss was a stubborn mule if Miller had ever seen one.

Despite this fact, however, there were only so many times a man could say no.

Big Boss was good at dodging bullets, but not Miller. Miller was unyielding in his ways and knew how to negotiate. Simply put, all the time spent running scenarios from behind a desk wasn’t all for naught. Miller was good at his job, at making compromises, and after a few rational requests of ‘just give me this, at least’ Miller finally managed to bring Big Boss back to the Sick Bay for an ultrasound on a piece of equipment that had been developed in Glasgow, Scotland during the 1950s. With it, they would be glimpsing the fetus forming inside of him.

Or so Big Boss was told.

Honestly, he didn’t know what he was staring at after he was instructed to unzip his Sneaking Suit and lie back on one of the Sick Bay’s gurneys. The radiological image didn’t seem all that defined on the monitor when the medic said, ‘there it is,’ and the whole time Big Boss stared at ‘it’ he felt as though he was in for a psychological assessment, a _Rorschach Test_ —one he was miserably failing.

“Tell me what I’m looking at here, Kaz,” Big Boss eventually said, his voice gruff with weariness. He wasn’t about to admit it, but he couldn’t make out anything from the moving ink-like blotch.

“Well…” Miller was hesitant. _The baby, for starters_ , he could have stated simply, but to him the need to elaborate was always stronger than a straight answer. “As you can see here, at nine-weeks the fetus is about the size of a kumquat – an orange-like fruit from the citrus genus. Its organs are almost fully functional now. It’s even starting to get fingernails and peach fuzz for hair.”

“…Good to know.” Big Boss obviously wasn’t interested.

“Speaking of kumquats,” Miller tried to lighten the mood. “They’re great for preserves. But they can also be eaten raw, like how you’d eat an orange. Ironically, the name itself, ‘kam kwat’ is derived from Chinese, or rather the Cantonese dialect, meaning ‘little orange.’”

Big Boss grunted. Miller took that as ‘still not interested’ and watched on as the medic was waved away and Big Boss swung his legs off the edge of the gurney to sit up; the top half of his Sneaking Suit following like a shed skin. And for Big Boss it was like a second skin. He treasured his Sneaking Suit the same way a gentleman would a tuxedo. He felt comfortable in it, it felt natural on him. Only through reluctance had he upzipped it and pulled it down around his waist so that the medic could apply the ultrasound gel to his stomach. The substance itself had gone skin-temperature by now, its spread no longer in cold globs, only warm ones, but either way Big Boss didn’t make an effort to wipe any of it off.

Instead Big Boss rose, straightened his back, shoveled his arms back through the sleeves, and re-zipped everything as he normally would. But nothing was normal about any of this, and the signs of exhaustion came out in Big Boss’ eventual sigh. Miller heard the fatigue and foresaw the ultimate collapse, especially if things continued as they were.

“How are you feeling, boss?” Miller asked after a minute, curiosity harmless.

“Like I swallowed something I shouldn’t have,” Big Boss replied and Miller nearly laughed.

“Typical.”

Big Boss frowned. “How so?”

“Well, right now the fetus is about one and one-fourth inches in size and poised for rapid weight gain. I wish I could tell you it gets easier, but essentially in the coming weeks the fetus is only going to double in size and further this ‘bloated’ sensation you’re feeling.” Miller remembered to smile when the frown deepened. He chanced another laugh. “Sorry to break it to you, Boss, but you’re only going to get and feel bigger. In the meantime, we may have to make some adjustments to your Sneaking Suit – make it a little more flexible around the midsection?” Big Boss made a face and Miller lifted his hands. “Don’t worry, I’ll be discreet. Although, might I suggest putting missions on hold for a while and just focusing on doing some physical activities around Mother Base? Simple stuff, like walking from strut to strut instead of taking a car, or even a light jog around the perimeter?”

“You want me to run it off?” Big Boss asked. He almost sounded optimistic, like he thought it was that easy to make the feeling go away. Better yet, his whole situation.

“Uhh. Not… exactly,” Miller was careful with his words. “Depending on your level of fitness, exercise is a great way to not only keep in shape, but to build up muscle tone and endurance for what comes later down the line. Whether you like it or not, that baby is going to get heavier, Boss, meaning your body mass will, too. So putting a little time aside for some extra fitness every now and again shouldn’t be an issue. In fact, it would probably be a piece of cake for you. With all the training and calisthenics you do already, you probably won’t even break a sweat. Although, if you start feeling dizzy or like the world’s on top of you, that means you’re pushing it. Just sit down or hang your head between your knees, you should be fine.”

“And the nausea? What’ve you got for that?”

“You remember what I was saying about kumquats earlier? Or should I say ‘little orange?’” Miller asked and thanked the all-nighter he had pulled last week doing research. Big Boss nodded. “Believe it or not, oranges should do the trick – or rather orange juice. Not only does it have victim C, but it’s also hydrating. It should be easy to keep down.”

Big Boss scoffed, and although subtle, Miller saw a smile begin to pull at the corners of the boss’ lips. It was fleeting, the expression, but Miller felt his heart warm regardless. There was progress here. Miller didn’t know what else to call it besides that, he only knew not to take the look as one of acceptance just yet. After all, there was still so much left uncovered: how the situation came to be, if Big Boss wanted to keep the baby or terminate. Big Boss hadn’t exactly been forthcoming over the past week—mumbling, only briefly, the words ‘experimentation’ and ‘gene therapy,’ which wasn’t much to go on, even for the most open of minds.

Miller, by all means, could think outside of the box on occasion. With the constant rise of new-fangled advances in technology, more often than not it was required of him to do so. But he could never, and vowed to never try to, understand what Big Boss saw in Ocelot.

Even now as he and Big Boss stepped out of the Sick Bay and into the sea air outside and he looked over the second-story railing to see said-ocelot stepping off of Morpho’s Hind and onto MSF’s helipad that vow didn’t waver. And the loose salute Ocelot threw towards them in greeting didn’t change a damn thing, even if the gesture was non-threatening, looking more like a blown kiss. The jealously in Miller was unrelenting. Or, in any case, it would have been unrelenting if he hadn’t turned his head and glimpsed Big Boss’ expression.

How the boss’ mouth parted in ready of verbalizing a thought that would need reassurance. How his lips quickly pinched back together to stop himself from seeking input. How his nose scrunched thereafter, like he was disgusted with himself for even considering whatever he just had.

Big Boss had considered telling Ocelot.

He truly had, Miller was sure of it. But in less than a second the thought was seemingly gone, talked down without words, and Big Boss was walking away. Ocelot didn’t seem to take the reaction personally, he simply went on saluting all those who had stopped to give their welcomes as well, but Miller was left standing alone on the second-story, confused and frustrated about how to proceed. And the more he watched the ocelot, the more his gut squeezed. Deep down, he didn’t really want to play into the role of middleman. The role of negotiator had been enough, but if he already had his feet wet, so to say…

Miller sighed. He would hate himself later.

“Ocelot,” Miller called out, though not until he had already descended the nearest staircase and found himself standing on the same level as the audience he sought. “Got a minute?” It wasn’t really a question.

“For you?” Ocelot was just bringing his hand down from dismissing the helicopter. He walked closer. He didn’t even blink when giving Miller the once-over. “No.” He pushed on and past, their shoulders nearly touching.

Miller followed Ocelot with his body and ground his teeth at the retreating back. He should be used to the attitude. It had been their preferred greeting for a while now, yet it never failed to strike a nerve. But Miller wasn’t doing this for himself. He wasn’t coming down here to pick a fight. He was down here for the boss. To clear the air they all breathed. And as soon as Miller saw the last of the recruits disappear from sight, he took a steadying breath and said what he needed to.

“Big Boss is pregnant.”

The waves under Mother Base crescendoed. Ocelot stopped walking, his halt almost mechanical. One shoulder turned back. Miller had his attention now.

“Just thought you’d like to know. If it was me… I would,” Miller added with darkened features. If Ocelot read him as resentful, so be it. That was exactly what he was. “Go and see him.”

Ocelot scoffed. For a moment there was an expression of contemplation on his face, like he considered the request something he could refuse. This made Miller’s blood boil and the want to strangle the ocelot stronger than ever, but against all odds he remained grossly patient with the man and with himself.

It wasn’t long before a short silence crept over them like an enemy, their body language baiting the other to make the first move. Ocelot couldn’t see Miller’s eyes, an advantage brought on by the tinted lenses of those constantly worn aviator glasses, but Miller saw everything through them. And after a minute more their contest fell short. Ocelot’s face became less distant, more focused, and almost immediately he was walking away again without another word shared.

Miller watched him go, and despite the fact that the ocelot’s direction wasn’t clear he didn’t dare lesser himself by harking after the man with a shouted, ‘please!’ In spite of the defiant impression left, he had a feeling that Ocelot would heed what had been asked, for their love for Big Boss was one and the same; great enough to override their hatred for one another.

Only in that aspect, would Miller admit as he faced the lone helipad, did he and Ocelot not differ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is almost like a continuation, happenings within the same day. We'll try to update within the coming week. Cheers!

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments, they're diamonds to us - precious - each and every one. If you could spare a second we'd sincerely love to hear what you think. Thanks so much for reading!! (･`◡´･)ゝ✧


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